Judge and Be Judged
by shipthelimes
Summary: Altair meets a mysterious Templar Knight who complicates his views on human life. Oddly, they part without bloodshed and meet again. Future slash between Altair/MalexOC, set before the game. R&R please!
1. Chapter 1: An Encounter

The moon was bright and silver against the ebon sky. Its light illuminated the slumbering city below, quiet and tired from the sweltering heat. A few citizens wandered aimlessly through Jerusalem's shadowy streets, either too poor or too ignorant to find their homes. One unfortunate pauper was caught by a cold, mailed fist; his weak protests and muttered pleas were quickly silenced by a Templar's blade. The man slid to the dusty ground and the Templar grinned, relishing the crimson color in the lunar rays. Injustices such as this were repeated several times before midnight finally broke.

Altair sat upon a high tower, grimacing at the bloodshed below. Every death brought him closer to action, closer to abandoning the mission. But somehow, he restrained himself, always imagining those Knights dead. A wispy cloud covered the vivid moon and threw the city into obscure darkness. Altair moved swiftly under the cover of darkness, vaulting from one roof top to another. The cloud moved again and suddenly the city was covered in light again. Altair stood tall and defiant on a low building, and was rapidly discovered by a group of patrolling Knights.

"Have to kill them if they see me…" Altair whispered darkly to himself, "I should be more careful." The three Templars unsheathed their weapons as the captain bawled battle orders. They circled close to Altair and slashed at him clumsily. Altair almost laughed as he skillfully disarmed one Knight and impaled another with his own weapon. The two fell to the ground and the captain stumbled backwards, painfully aware that he had caught not a helpless dove, but instead an angry hawk. Altair leapt into the air and curled his fists. The captain screamed vainly as Altair descended; the scream was short-lived as Altair's blade slid effortlessly into the man throat. Altair stood tall again and observed the bloody scene around him. He shrugged coldly at the deaths,

"They chose their fates. I am but the messenger." Altair turned and was about to leap to another rooftop when a shaking voice caused him to hesitate.

"Stop! Don't move!" the voice said. Altair glanced over his shoulder and saw a single trembling archer kneeling on a neighboring roof. He was dressed in traditional Templar armor and a full helm hid his face from view, similarly as Altair's hood shielded his.

"Another easy kill…" Altair thought silently to himself. With a single fluid movement, Altair drew a single throwing knife from a pouch and threw it dexterously toward the archer. The Templar flinched, but quickly drew an arrow and shot it. Altair was not only surprised to see his knife knocked aside, but amused as the arrow continued through the air and lodged itself where his head had been just moments before. The Knight readied another arrow but did not shoot.

"I told you not to move," the Knight said again, "and next time, I won't miss." Altair grinned,

"So kill me already," Altair said dangerously, "Murder me like you murdered those innocent people!" The Knight looked taken aback.

"I'm not the murderer here! Look around you!" he gestured toward the bodies that surrounded Altair, "You've killed three good men here!" Altair barked a short, bitter laugh,

"Good men? Is that what you call men who kill and bully the unfortunate and desperate?" Altair asked angrily. The young Templar narrowed his eyes,

"What do you mean? The Templars serve justice and righteousness…" but Altair interrupted him with another cruel laugh.

"Your precious Knights carved up five defenseless citizens tonight. What is just or right about that?" The Knight shook his head in disbelief, but his tightened grip on his bow betrayed his uncertainty. The Knight did not have time to answer as several more Templars filed into the street below. Altair raised his eyebrows,

"So… are you going to shoot me or not?" The Knight looked at Altair, then at the dead Templars, and finally into the streets or Jerusalem.

"No… he said finally, "No. I am not a murderer," he said again, "I don't know what is right, but killing you here and now would be wrong." Altair frowned. 'A Knight with a conscious?' he thought to himself, 'Now I've seen everything…'

"You're letting me go?" Altair asked incredulously. The young Knight nodded.

"Go now, before they see us talking." Altair took a few steps but stopped as an arrow nearly pierced his left foot.

"Before you go, I want to know your name," The Knight said.

"Why would I tell my enemy my name? Wouldn't that make it easier to kill for you to track me down and kill me?" The Knight considered this for a moment and jumped as the knights below began to climb the ladders that led to where the Knight was standing.

"Uh, here how's this: I'll give you my name and you'll give me yours." Altair gaped at the statement but the Knight did not give him to time to reject the offer.

"My name," the Knight said hurriedly, "is Thomas." Altair sighed with exasperation,

"I don't… but… fine, they call me Altair," he said quietly. Thomas nodded, but did not say anything; the other Templars had finally scaled the ladders and were standing around him, screaming for him to shoot. Thomas let fly a single arrow that fell far short of Altair and apologized to his superior,

"I'm so sorry, I couldn't get him, he was just too far away…" Thomas said loudly to the other Knights. Altair smiled as Thomas's voice faded behind him. 'That kid was for real,' he thought as he leapt from the roofs. He landed softly and looked up to silvery sky. Another desert cloud drifted over the moon and Altair's expression hardened.

"Time to get to work," he said as the city succumbed to darkness. Without so much as a single glance behind him, the young assassin sprinted into the depths of the city to complete his assigned task.

Later that night and into the early morning, a restless Thomas lay twisting and turning in his bunk.

"Altair… hmm…" he repeated the name countless times, but the thought would not leave him, "I wonder what he looked like…" Thomas sighed for the thousandth time and questioned his decision of allowing the man to live.

"I hope he wasn't telling the truth…" he said eventually, as the dawn rose bloody and red, "for my sake, at least. I joined the Knights to protect people, not to hurt them. But… I don't want any of the Templars to die, either. Some of them are decent people… some of them…" he buried his face into his pillow, "Altair… you have confused me. Will we meet again, I wonder?"

Altair sat upon the city's walls and watched the moon descend. He stared at his hands for a long time, wondering if the scarlet stains would ever wash off.

"They deserve this," he said, trying to convince himself, "they deserve nothing less than death. They all deserve this," but a nagging feeling at the edge of his mind rejected the death and retribution. Suddenly, he thought of the young archer, the Knight who refused to kill.

"Thomas…" Altair whispered pensively, "Do you deserve this judgment as well? Have you sinned enough to warrant death?" Altair looked at the sin on his own hands and thought of his punishment, "Do I truly possess the power to deliver such judgment…?" The Assassin's Creed argued that he did, but Altair was suddenly unsure.

"You have complicated this, Thomas. It was easier to kill a heartless enemy," Altair clasped his hands and smiled, "I wonder… will I meet you again?"


	2. Chapter 2: Fingertips

The sun was hot and the air was dry, the perfect combination of weather that irritates everyone. Altair pulled at his hood, baking in his coat, and tried to busy himself with the busy marketplace below. He noticed a filthy pickpocket, stealing glinting coins from a pompous noble. A poor merchant was desperately advertising his withered apples, but no one was in the mood to make a purchase. The Templars, because of the heat and because Altair had just eliminated a high ranking officer, were particularly nasty today. A group of eight was parading up and down the market, taunting the commoners and being generally vicious. Altair sighed, but did not move. Action now would serve no purpose other than detection and maybe death. A ninth Knight with a helm covering his face and with a bow strapped to his back rushed into the market and began talking heatedly to the others. Altair smirked at the arguing Templars, amused at their disorder and disagreements. But something made Altair look closer.

"Wait, an archer? Could that be…?" A voice in Altair's head said no. That archer could be anyone. One of the Knights slugged the archer in the face. Another voice said that it wouldn't hurt to examine the uproar. Altair slowly and carefully made his way down to the market and cautiously peered over the roof's edge at the Knights. By the time Altair had done this, two more Knights had joined the fray and were aiming heavy punches toward the archer. The bowman was quick, though, and he only took a few glancing bows.

"How's that feel?" one of the Knights shouted as his fist connected with the archer's shoulder. The archer responded with a swift quick to the stomach and the Knight doubled over.

"Sergeant said you missed a target last night, and you let him get away," another added.

"I didn't _let_ him get away! I missed-" the archer protested.

"Ah, but you never missed in training, did ya? Not a single target, if I'm not mistaken." Altair examined the Knight's deadly expression and decided that he wasn't mistaken.

"Did ya let him go, Thomas?" Altair inhaled sharply. _It was him!_ he exclaimed mentally. "Did you get soft and let him go?" The Knight drew his sword and the archer took a step back,

"Hey, come on, we're all on the same team…" but the Knight with the sword wasn't listening.

"You know what we do to traitors in the Templar Order?" he asked harshly, "We don't have any use for a man that stays his sword."

"I won't fight you. We are both Knights." Thomas said weakly. The other Knight raised the sword.

"Good," he said loudly, "This should be easy!" Altair watched the sword descend in slow motion. _Move, you idiot!_ he thought, but Thomas remained immobile. Like a flash of lighting, Altair was in between them and he caught the sword between his hands.

"You…" Thomas whispered, "What are you…?"

"I really have no idea," and it was true; Altair didn't know why he interfered. The Knight with the sword yanked hard and Altair released the sword. The Knight stumbled backwards and fell to the ground. A few citizens laughed as he fumbled in his heavy armor. Altair withdrew a throwing knife, but Thomas caught his hand,

"No!" Thomas said fiercely, "Don't kill them!" Altair threw him a dubious expression, but pocketed his knife anyway. The group of Knights backed away and drew their weapons. Altair placed himself Thomas and the Knights, planting his feet firmly on the ground.

"Run, Thomas," he said quietly, "get away from here." Thomas shook his head.

"No. I'll help, but I won't kill anyone," Thomas responded. Altair rolled his eyes, thinking, _This could make things far more complicated than necessary._ Two of the Knights rushed Altair. The assassin parried, disarming the Knight, and tossed him into an alleyway. The other Knight was slashing toward Altair when Thomas tripped the Templar with his bow. The other six Knights began to advance as the other two picked themselves up.

"We have to move," Altair said plainly, "we'll be overrun if we stay." Thomas hesitated for a moment and then nodded in agreement.

"Yes, I- we need to get away…" Altair took the young Knight by the hand and led him into the labyrinth streets of Jerusalem.

They ran up walls, over buildings and under bridges. They ran until Thomas thought he was going to collapse. Eventually, Altair led them to a small, enclosed house made of dried bricks and mud. The entered the building quickly and quietly, bolting the door behind them. Thomas dropped to the floor and tore off his helm, revealing a pale face and short, spiky blond hair. Altair leaned against one wall, hands on his knees as he caught his breath. They sat in breathy silence as the Knights rushed past and sighed with relief once their heavy footsteps had disappeared. Thomas looked around the small room and looked to Altair.

"Where are we?" he asked, running a hand over his sweaty brow. Altair, who was strangely transfixed with Thomas's blue eyes, did not answer for a moment. Thomas looked to him and Altair looked away when their eyes met.

"This is a safe house for my…" Altair caught himself and amended the statement, "this is just a place I use to hide out." Thomas examine scanned the room. He saw a small bed in the corner, a wooden table, some hefty gourds of water, and a few large cushions that served as chairs.

"It's… lovely," Thomas said after a moment, "It has everything you might need." Altair shrugged and decided to change the subject.

"So, what are you going to do?" he asked. Thomas gestured meaninglessly,

"About the marketplace? I don't really know," he thought for a little bit, and then said, "the Lieutenant is a really nice guy… he'll probably understand. He's the reason I joined the Templar Order." Altair nodded but did not respond. Thomas continued, "But I guess we should let things cool down before I go out again." Altair stared at the Knight's eyes again, and this time, Thomas noticed.

"Is there something on my face?" Thomas asked politely.

"Wh-what?" Altair stuttered, embarrassed at being caught.

"Well, you've been staring at my face for a few minutes now. I was just wondering…" Altair couldn't think of an excuse and decided that honesty was the best way to go.

"It's just… your eyes. You don't see many blue eyes here in Jerusalem. Or yellow hair for that matter." Thomas laughed softly,

"Oh, is that all?" he said good-naturedly, "I thought for sure that Knight had split a lip or something." Altair laughed at the joke, despite himself. "But my face is kind of sore." Altair walked to Thomas and examined his face,

"Well," Altair said slowly and leaned close to the Knight, "you do have some bruising. But no permanent damage was done," his dark eyes wandered from the Knight's jaw to those azure eyes and their eyes met again. Thomas exhaled softly and Altair shivered as the hot breath caressed his cheek. Suddenly, as if being pulled from a dream, they realized their proximity to one another and broke apart abruptly. Altair tried to ease the awkward moment,

"So, um, you're welcome to stay as long as you want," he said shortly. Thomas smiled in response. The sun was beginning to dip on the horizon and Altair stifled a yawn, "Oh, and you can have the bed tonight, if you want," he motioned toward the small bed in the corner. Thomas sighed and pulled at his chain mail,

"Do you mind if I take this stuff off?" he asked. "The armor is murder in this heat." Altair shook his head and averted his eyes as Thomas removed his armor. The Knight was wearing a tunic and a pair of breeches under the chain mail, but they were damp and form fitting, and Altair felt strangely embarrassed. The assassin also felt the heat and finally submitted, removing his coat and the hood. Thomas looked at Altair's powerfully built body, visible even through the shirt and pants, and raised his eyebrows.

"What? What's with the look?" Altair asked as he hung his coat on a hook.

"Nothing, I just wasn't expecting you to be…" Thomas left the sentence unfinished, which both worried and excited the assassin. The two men abandoned the conversation as they remembered their thirst and they spent a few minutes drinking water and washing the grime from their faces. At one point, Thomas reached over to Altair to wash out a clump of sand that was caught in the assassin's short hair. Altair, whose back was turned, was not expecting the sudden touch and grabbed the Knight's wrist and pulled him close. Altair pinned him against the clay wall, crushing their chests together. Thomas opened his eyes wide with a small amount fear and a larger amount of something else that Altair could not identify. Altair's breath was ragged and he leaned in close to Thomas.

Then, as suddenly as they had come together, they parted, Altair striding across the room.

"Sorry…" he gasped, "you startled me." Thomas stood paralyzed against the wall,

"No… don't worry about it…" the Knight said back. They lapsed into silence as Altair prepared dinner.

The room was dark and quiet when Thomas finally crept into the small bed. Altair had volunteered to sleep on the floor, despite the Knight's protests. But for some reason, as tired as he was, the Templar could not sleep. He was excited and nervous for some reason as that gruff voice from the floor said,

"Good night, Thomas."

"Good night, Altair," the name on his tongue left a curious taste, "wait. Altair?" The assassin grunted in reply. "I need to know something. Why did you save me in the marketplace?"

"I could ask you the same question about the other night," When Thomas didn't respond, Altair continued, "It felt like the right thing to do. I didn't want to see you get hurt," The answer left made Thomas shiver slightly.

"Well, whatever the reason, I want to thank you," Thomas said solemnly, "for saving me and for this shelter."

"No problem at all, Thomas…" Altair said sleepily. The room was left with silence and sleep.

When Thomas awoke, he was laying on the floor next to Altair. The assassin had wrapped an arm around the Knight's waist protectively. Thomas wasn't sure what happened, but the warmth was not unwelcome. Altair awoke quickly as Thomas shifted and their eyes met briefly. Altair unwrapped his arm from around Thomas hastily and blushed faintly,

"You were thrashing in your sleep, you see," Altair explained hurriedly, "a bad dream or something. You fell to the ground and you grabbed onto me. I was just trying to calm you down…" but Thomas grinned.

"Seems like you save me even when I'm asleep," the Knight commented.

"Think nothing of it," Altair mumbled in reply. They sat close together for awhile, on the floor, and did not move until the sun had fully dawned. And when heir fingertips met underneath one of the blankets, neither of them said a thing.

A/N: Er… I'm not even sure WHY they like one another… I just think it's cute that Altair bails him out of everything. Stuff is gonna get more complicated, though… a little heartbreak never hurt anyone… oh, wait…

You can be sure of one thing though; Thomas is going to get in trouble again, and who's going to help him? Duh! Only the hottest, manliest, most sexually-repressed assassin ever to live!


	3. Chapter 3: Reunion

Altair left the clay house first, under the breath of early dawn. Something held him back for the slightest of moments, but his mission pulled harder. Thomas left near noon, using the busy midday traffic to his advantage. As he made his way through the crowded streets, he saw something at the edge of his sight. But every time he turned his head to see, the flitting shadow would disappear. Thomas grew worried; someone was following him. But when he entered the guarded compound held by the Templar Knights, the shadow that had crept in the alleys and crawled on roofs vanished. The shadow became an afterthought as Thomas stopped at the large, oaken doors which led to the interior of the complex. He exhaled heavily through dry, cracked lips and readied himself the confrontation ahead; the Knights from the marketplace had undoubtedly reported Thomas as a traitor; it was up to him to clear his name. The Knights have long memories and they bear longer grudges, and Thomas was unsure of what lay ahead. But the Knight had another purpose beyond himself. He wanted to meet with the Lieutenant, or a Sergeant, or some noble with power. Certainly they, of all people, would be outraged when they heard of their own soldiers acting like villains. They would not condone the injustices like those he had witnessed. So with another shaky, unsure breath, he entered the building.

The compound was elegant and extravagant; it seemed a crime to Thomas that the Templars possessed such wealth, and yet the soldiers and the citizens had next to nothing. Only the highest of the Order were permitted to reside here, and Thomas felt out of place just standing in the antechamber. A large fountain in the middle of the room bubbled eerily and the sounds of moving water did nothing for the overbearing heat or Thomas's thirst. A grand staircase curved around both sides of the fountain; everything was beautiful, but it still felt wrong to the young knight. Thomas looked around for a moment, before calling out in a timid voice,

"Uh… hello?" Almost immediately, a pair of guards with plumed helms appeared and they descended the staircase, meeting him at the door. They were both shorter than Thomas, but their arrogant eyes seemed to stare down at him.

"Are you reporting in?" One asked severely; his supercilious tone pierced Thomas's self-confidence. Thomas swallowed noisily,

"Er… yes, I am," he said nervously. A pit formed in his stomach and Thomas thought to himself, _Oh, it's just a little lie! And it's for something important anyway._ The guards exchanged looks and the one who had spoken earlier spoke again,

"Clearly not. You know neither the procedure nor do you bear the messenger's symbol," The guard said flatly. _Crap,_ Thomas thought. The guard continued, "And now, you will come with us. The Lieutenant decides the fate of idiots like you." Thomas shook his head,

"But I really do have something to tell them…" he pleaded. The guard smiled viciously,

"Then let us _escort_ you to them," was the reply. The pit in Thomas's stomach became a knot. Each soldier took one of Thomas's arms and they jerked him violently in front of them. The three of them climbed the staircase to the landing above.

The second floor was just as glamorous as the first; desert flowers filled every window, and gaudy rugs embroidered with bright reds and golds covered the hard wooden floor. Beautiful pine bookcases lined the walls and in the middle of everything was a large, marble desk that glittered strangely in the light and behind the desk stood two large men. They were of the same height and build, but one man was clearly older, with a grey, ruffled mane of hair. The younger knight had very short, dark hair and his mouth was lined with stress and stubble. They were heatedly debating something, but Thomas could not hear their muffled, angry whispers. One of the guards cleared his throat loudly and the talking ceased abruptly. The older man with the grey spoke first,

"I hope there is a good reason for this interruption," he said impatiently. One guard thrust Thomas forward, and the young knight stumbled. His helm fell clumsily to the ground and Thomas stooped to retrieve it. His hand stopped in mid reach as the dark haired Knight recognized him.

"Thomas?" he said slowly as Thomas retrieved his helmet and straightened.

"L-lieutenant Barnes…" Thomas replied with a weak salute. Their eyes met for an instant and Thomas became engulfed in a wave of emotion and memory.

_Thomas was born in one of the many small hamlets that surround London. He was the only son of a poor farmer. He had many brothers and sisters, but they all met untimely deaths in childhood. As Thomas grew older, his perception of the injustices and cruelties of the world also grew. He could not understand why some men were kings, and others were beggars, and he did not see any plausible method of changing the social structure around him. But, Thomas had very little time to consider the problems of the world, as he could barely manage his own. Along with his poverty were certain other complications of Thomas's life. He was decidedly different than the other village boys; while they were roughhousing and fighting, Thomas spent his limited free time with the sick and the unfortunate. He was overly sensitive and cried easily, which brought only jeers and taunts from the other children. He was not interested in swordplay or farming or woodcutting. Instead, he wanted to read and write, and this brought the scorn of his father and the other village men. Thomas knew he was different in more significant ways, but he did not know what they were. _

_When Thomas turned seventeen, he found out._

_A few weeks after his seventeenth birthday, a brigade of Templar Knights rode through the hamlet. Thomas was thoroughly enchanted. The horses were so grand and kingly, the knights shining and fairly sparkling in their armor. All the men were strong and tall, brave and gallant, with their knightly speech and natural grandeur. They said that they were from the kingdom, and that the king had sent aid to his faithful servants. The knights brought spirit to the gloomy village and helped the farmers immensely, from chopping wood to slaying the bandits that roamed the woods. The villagers gladly housed the knights during their stay, and as fate would have it, a certain, fresh recruit named Lyle Barnes shared a room with Thomas._

_The man was young, barely older than Thomas, but he looked so different. Thomas could not help but stare; Lyle's body was toned and built, muscled from his heavy armor and recent training. He was tall and broad in the shoulders, and Thomas felt a curious pull in the pit of his stomach every time Lyle spoke to him. The knight's voice was deep and steady, and Thomas was overly self-conscious every time the man's eyes met his._

_One day, while the knights were in town, Thomas wanted to make a trip to London, to see the city. His parents denied the request: the danger was too much and the time could be spent working. But Lyle, being the virtuous knight that he was, interjected._

_"I would not mind escorting the boy," he said, smiling kindly at Thomas, who blushed furiously, "And travel is good for the soul and the body. He would benefit greatly." Thomas's parents would not deny the knight, and the next day, the two of them left the hamlet for London._

_They were half way there when trouble arose. Highwaymen ambushed them along the path, demanding all of their money, possessions and clothes. Lyle, very stoutly, said no, a reply that Thomas admired greatly._

_"Alright, we'll do this the hard way, then." The bandit leader said through blackened teeth. But three malnourished, clumsy bandits are no match for one heavily armed knight, and they were easily dispatched. Unfortunately, Lyle was wounded during the fight, and he clutched his side in an effort to hide the blood from Thomas. After all, a knight cannot show weakness in the face of danger. But Thomas noticed the injury anyway, and insisted that they so he could dress the wound._

_"Please, remove your armor so I can help," Thomas said quietly, while ripping strips of fabric from his shirt. The knight obliged silently, tenderly removing his breast plate and tunic. Thomas began to wrap the wound, but his closeness to the knight made him nervous for reasons that he did not understand. His hand shook, and the knight, noticing his trembling hands, took them in his own. Immediately, Thomas's hands straightened and he began to bandage the injury, ignoring the knight's curious glances and small smile. Lyle's chest was hot and damp with sweat and Thomas found it difficult to focus. The knight was breathing somewhat heavily, and his searing breath brushed against Thomas's forehead. Finally, after what Thomas considered hours, the bandaging was complete and the knight nodded approvingly,_

_"Thank you, Thomas" he said plainly. Thomas shrugged,_

_"I should thank you, really," his eyes wandered from the knight's face to his torso. Abruptly, the knight brought him back from his daydreams,_

_"Thomas, are you hurt at all?" The younger man was taken aback and he became painfully aware that they were still very close to one another,_

_"No, not at all… why?" Thomas answered, and the knight smiled kindly,_

_"I suppose," he said thoughtfully, "that you are simply shaken. Your hands were trembling terribly."_

_"Oh, but." Thomas said quickly, without thinking, "they weren't shaking because I was scared." Immediately, Thomas realized his blunder. The knight stopped smiling and his expression became clouded. "I mean," Thomas said, trying to amend the previous statement, "I meant to say…" but the knight stopped him._

_"No. You spoke honestly, but that is not enough. Explain yourself entirely." Thomas floundered for a moment, but the explanation was inevitable._

_"I don't know why or how," Thomas said anxiously unsure of the knight's response, "but I feel strange every time I see you, or every time I come close to you." They were so close together that Thomas could see every rivulet of sweat and each individual strand of dark stubble. The knight gestured for Thomas to continue, "My stomach ties itself in knots, or I can't see or breathe, or my hands shake. But strangely, those feelings are not unwelcome. And when I look at you in your knightly valor, I feel like I…" but he did not finish the sentence. He had already said too much. Lyle said nothing for a long time, but suddenly, he stepped even closer to Thomas, so close that their noses nearly touched._

_"And what do you feel now?" Lyle asked in his low, husky voice. His breath was unbearably hot, his proximity too much._

_"I feel…" Thomas whispered back, "I feel…" but there were no words to describe the feeling. No words could tell, but an action would suffice. Thomas leaned in closer and Lyle did not retract. Their mouths met, slow and hot and passionate. There was no dominance, there was no submission. They were equals in the kiss, both desperate and wanting and strong. Thomas let his hands wander over Lyle's magnificent body, reveling in the raw muscle and power and physical prowess that Lyle possessed. Lyle felt Thomas in a different way, exploring the young man fully, working his way over the smaller, yet firm, muscles of Thomas's chest and thighs. When their lips parted, each man gasped for air, the kiss being much more than a physical display. But the act was far from finished. Lyle dropped to his knees, dexterously pulling the younger man's trousers to the ground. Thomas exhaled sharply as Lyle engulfed his length with his hot, wet mouth. The knight looked up, enjoying Thomas's look of pure ecstasy, and lightly scraped his teeth against the shaft. Thomas let out a small noise, accompanied by large exhale. Purely by instinct, he wrapped his fingers around Lyle's short hair and ground his hips into Lyle's face. The knight obliged fully, grabbing Thomas's thighs and urging him with his tongue and lips to delve further. Thomas, inexperienced as he was, could not last long against the absolute pleasure of it all._

_"Lyle…" he moaned loudly as his orgasm peaked. The knight willingly received it, swallowing loudly and looked up, smiling. Thomas returned the smile as the knight laid him on his back in a patch of soft grass._

_"What are you…?" Thomas asked with a hoarse voice._

_"It's my turn now," was the simple reply. He cupped his palm and spit into it, rubbing the expectorant along his own rigid member. Then he extended his palm to Thomas, who followed Lyle's example with out a word. He spread this along Thomas's entrance, tenderly and slowly inserting a single digit. Thomas gasped lightly and Lyle smiled._

_"How does that feel?" But Thomas's answer was replaced by another man as Lyle inserted a second finger. Slowly and gently he stretched Thomas, eventually using three fingers. Thomas arched his back with pleasure and called out,_

_"Enough… preparation." Lyle did not need to be told twice. Slowly, very slowly, he slid his entire throbbing manhood into Thomas, who curled his fists and clenched his eyes from the sensation. The knight began to thrust into Thomas, gradually increasing the pace. Faster and faster he went until they both began to moan and groan in low, pleasured voices. Thomas bucked his hips backwards, urging him deeper and deeper; his own member was hard again, and the rapture was magnified as Lyle's shaft brushed against a particular spot. Feverishly, Thomas began pumping his own member as Lyle threw back his head and pushed himself even deeper. Lyle released deep inside of Thomas, thrusting at an intense rate. At the same moment, Thomas felt a second orgasm and bathed his abdomen and hand with more semen._

_Afterwards, the two men lay together, embraced and exhausted. Thomas's head rested peacefully on Lyle's chest and the knight stroked Thomas's hair thoughtfully. They never made it to London, and Thomas told his parents that he did indeed learn something very important on the journey. They laid together, in secret, for many nights after, and Thomas was nearly broken when Lyle was forced to depart. So Thomas joined the Templar Knights, thinking that he could help the innocent and the needy, and hoping that he could one day be reunited with the first man he ever loved._

But Thomas feared, as he stared at the grinning Lieutenant, that Lyle, like the Templar Knights, had changed since their first meeting five years before. The Templars once represented salvation and faith, and five years has changed the Order into a self-serving remnant of what it used to be. And if five years can change an organization so dramatically, how drastically can five years affect a single man?

A/N: Argh, I keep using OCs, and it seems like I'm getting away from Altair (seeing as he was barely in this chapter at all), but don't worry, he's coming soon. And Thomas is going to suffer a bit. Or a lot. It depends on Barnes, and it depends on Altair. And maybe they'll have to do something extremely stubborn and manly like duel or something… I don't know yet. Who should Thomas go for? (Psst… vote for Altair… he's hotter…) oh, and just in case you didn't get it, the italics was a flashback. I know, obvious to some, but maybe not to others?


	4. Chapter 4: The Lieutenant

Lieutenant Lyle Barnes stepped from behind the marble desk, still grinning widely. He waved a dismissive hand toward the plumed guards,

"Thank you for bringing him here. You can go now," he said curtly. One of the guards curled a lip, but said nothing.

"Yes sir," was the short reply, and they departed without complaint. Barnes shifted his attention to Thomas and embraced the knight, clapping him hard on the back. Thomas blushed faintly and hesitated, eyeing the third knight with uncertainty. Thomas, after a short pause, returned the gesture and pressed his face into Lyle's chest, losing himself in the scent and the feel. Lyle brought one hand slowly across Thomas's face, caressing his chin and cheeks gently and Thomas closed his eyes at the touch. Abruptly, the older knight, who was still standing in the room, cleared his throat loudly,

"_Infidels!_" he coughed into his elbow. Hastily, Thomas and Lyle broke apart and stepped away from one another.

"Er…" Lyle said, motioning toward the aged knight, "this is Captain Asher. He's behind much of our tactical planning and battle strategy," Thomas saluted to the soldier, and Asher nodded in return,

"Yes, well, lovely meeting the recruits, but I have business to attend to. I was just on my way out anyway and," he said, casting a dark glance toward Lyle, "I wouldn't want to interrupt anything. Farewell, Barnes, and remember what I've told you." Barnes saluted and the Captain departed, leaving Thomas and Barnes in the room. Alone. Lyle looked at Thomas and smiled charmingly.

"Well, now that he's gone," he said demurely, "we can… catch up." Thomas suddenly felt uncomfortable; Lyle's tone and his expression betrayed his intentions. Thomas quickly stepped behind the desk, pointedly separating the two men.

"Lieutenant Barnes…" Thomas began, but Lyle interrupted,

"Come now, formalities are unnecessary here…" Barnes said and he circled the desk. Thomas evaded him, using the desk as a barrier,

"Lyle, I need to talk to you. It is very important that we speak…" but Barnes laughed,

"And is there any reason why we could not speak later? There are other needs that are more… demanding," he said in low voice. Thomas gulped,

"N-no, we must discuss this now," he stuttered, "There are knights in this city who are behaving most inappropriately." Lyle bit his lip seductively,

"Oh? Knights being bad, are they? I don't suppose that I…" but Thomas could stand no more,

"Lyle, stop this!" Thomas interjected, Lyle stopped smiling, "This is neither the time nor the place for this." Lyle frowned,

"Thomas… it's been so long…"

"Then a few more minutes will not harm you!" was Thomas's response. Barnes looked hurt,

"Thomas, you don't want this? Have you not missed me these past years?" Thomas shook his head sadly,

"No, Lyle, I have. I've ached and yearned for you. But I want you, Lyle, not just your body. There is more to us than simple carnal desire; I would not lessen our relationship with a meaningless union, especially after all of this time," Thomas took a deep breath," and I did not come here for you, or for myself." Lyle face assumed a sulky expression; the knight was clearly unhappy.

"Fine, then. Then why are you here?"

"There are knights, Templars, who are committing crimes and yet, walk unpunished," Thomas said, and his voice was filled with sadness, "We are to bring order and stability to the world. But instead, we sow chaos and madness. This is not the way of the Templar Order; why have our soldiers adopted such reckless manners?" Lyle shifted uncomfortably,

"The knights," he said slowly, "are not to blame. The Templar Knights do indeed protect the innocent and the disadvantaged," Thomas shook his head vehemently,

"No," he said angrily, "our men are out there murdering innocents! We do not protect them; they fear us, Lyle. We are not knights here. We are executioners." Lyle averted his eyes and looked at the ground.

"And what can I do about it? I cannot control the actions of others…" The excuse was weak, and Thomas knew it.

"Lyle, those men fall under your jurisdiction. Any crime that is theirs is yours. They are you responsibility, Lieutenant!" The last word was spoken with unintentional bitterness.

"But Thomas, look around. These are not people," Lyle said seriously, "these are heathens, infidels and godless monsters. Their customs, their appearance… they do not deserve the salvation we offer." Thomas stood silent, incredulous and mouth agape.

"You… cannot mean that, Lyle," he said after a moment, "They have men, women and children, just England does. They cry tears, they bleed the same crimson color. They dream and hope and laugh and pray, just as you and I do. I joined the Order to help people like them, because of the example you set. I looked up to you. And for you to claim these people inhuman is…" and even though there was no word for Thomas's emotion, the meaning was understood by both knights. Thomas sat weakly on the desk, feeling strangely fatigued, both physically and mentally. Lyle sat in silence for a few minutes before saying,

"So is that what you wanted to talk about?"

"Yes," Thomas said softly, "that is all." Lyle clapped his hands together,

"Excellent, now we can move on to something more important." Thomas sighed,

"I don't know what you're-" but he was cut off as Lyle's mouth covered his. Thomas's eyes widened and he struggled against the larger man.

"Lyle, stop, I don't want to do this right now…" but Lyle would not be denied.

"Thomas, I have been waiting for you. I have waited for this for five years," he said as he slid his tongue down Thomas's neck. Thomas let out a small noise, but he did not yield.

"L-lyle… unh… please, not right now…" Thomas pleaded, but Lyle did not respond. His large hands wandered Thomas's landscape, pulling here and pinching there. They slid underneath Thomas's shirt and past his pants, and as his fingers brushed against that most sensitive part, Thomas would have no more.

"I said no!" he shouted, and struck out at Lyle. But the Lieutenant's grin just smiled and he pinned the younger knight's wrist to the desk.

"Lyle, don't do this!" he screamed as Lyle began to disrobe him. Tears began to cloud his vision and panic rose in his chest. Suddenly, Thomas was on his back and an eager Lyle towered above him. Lyle hastily pulled down his own pants and Thomas began to flail and splutter,

"No, no, Lyle, stop!" he cried, "Don't do this! Lyle! I trusted you!" he said as Lyle spread apart his cheeks, "I loved you…" he said almost inaudibly. Thomas had resigned himself to the violation, powerless against Lyle's strength. But just before Lyle entered, a chilling scream echoed through the building.

"God dammit…" was all Lyle could say before crawling off of Thomas. The young knight lay motionless on the desk, eyes frozen and staring upward. Barnes fumbled quickly with his pants, but before he could pull them up, a guard burst through the door.

"Sir, Captain Asher has been murdered! He…" he said, and then saw Thomas laying on the desk with no clothes and Lyle with his trousers still around his knees. The guard stared speechless and Lyle yanked his pants up violently. But before the guard could say anything else, a sword blade appeared in his chest. Blood spurted everywhere and the man crumpled to the floor. A cloaked man replaced the guard's silhouette in the door, and the assassin entered the room. Lyle snarled and grabbed his sword, but the murderer was not looking at Lyle.

"Thomas?" Altair said, dumbfounded. He looked at Thomas, who was know lying on the desk, sobbing quietly and was wearing nothing, and then he looked at Lyle, who had no shirt and a pair of unbuttoned pants.

"You know this assassin?!" Lyle asked angrily. Deep, hateful anger welled up inside of Altair bared his teeth and charged, but Barnes was fast. He ducked to the side, out of reach of Altair's sword and crouched low to attack. He pounced at Altair, but the assassin dodged easily. He countered, smashing his sword's hilt into the knight's skull. Lyle crumpled to the ground, unconscious but alive. Altair flexed his left hand and he prepared to slit the man's throat. But as Altair leaned down to end Lyle, Thomas, who was now leaning against the desk, called out,

"No, Altair…" he said softly. Altair threw him a disbelieving look, and Thomas shook his head, "No. He wasn't always this… violent. And we cannot heal his violence with more violence. It will destroy you both."

"You would spare him? Even after he…?" Altair gestured hopelessly. Thomas nodded sadly, and more tears fell,

"He did nothing. He might have… but he might have stopped. He used to be good. He used to…" but Thomas could not finish. Altair looked down at Lyle with disgust and he whispered into his ear,

"You will live, but you will not escape unscathed." Lyle did not hear, but Altair slashed his blade across Lyle's face, ensuring that the knight would never forget his actions. A bright red streak, from the left corner of his mouth to his right eye, appeared on Lyle's face. Hurried footsteps filled the building, and Altair moved quickly.

"I'm getting you out of here," he said to Thomas, and the knight nodded.

"Yes… please, help me stand," he said, and Altair helped him rise. Thomas slung one arm over Altair's shoulders, and they left the battle scarred room together.

They attracted many glance and several curious questions, but Altair ignored them all. They reached the safe house that Altair had shown him before, and they entered the shade of the building gladly. Once inside, Thomas leaned against one wall, and he stared blankly at the floor. Altair did not know what to do; but some instinct, some long forgotten intuition told him to take Thomas's hand. Thomas flinched at the touch, and he looked forlornly into Altair's brown eyes. But Thomas could not contain himself any longer. He dove into Altair's arms, and the assassin held him close, for there was little else he could.

"I loved him, Altair…" he sobbed, "I gave myself to him… why? How could he do this…?" but Altair had no answer. He could only grip tightly to the wounded knight and whisper,

"I know. I know." Thomas buried his head in Altair's chest and cried until evening came. Altair carried the knight to the bed and as he turned away, Thomas's knight caught his wrist,

"Please… stay with me," he said in a voice rough with pain. Altair could not deny him. They shared the small caught, and they held one another close. Thomas finally fell asleep, nestled in Altair's chest, and the assassin could not bear to leave him.

When Thomas awoke, he felt worried when he found his limbs entangled with Altair's. But they were both fully clothed and Altair smiled down at him. But Thomas did not return the smile; he could not. Lyle Barnes was a changed man, and he needed to know why. But Altair's smile was too inviting, and Thomas returned it with a grin, despite himself. He joined the Templar Order to protect life, and now he was sharing secret smiles with an assassin, a murderer. Altair, as well, considered the situation. He was to work against the knights, and yet, here he was harboring a knight in his arms. But, for a small moment, despite the violence and death and horrors each had witnessed, and despite that to come, they felt happy because they were with each other. Impulsively, Altair brushed his lips over Thomas's forehead. Thomas recoiled slightly, and Altair realized that they both had a great amount of healing to do.

A/N: Well, that was a bit more harrowing than I had originally intended. Poor Tommy. And we all know that Lyle is gonna be BITTER. Revenge is bittersweet. Like chocolate chips. And what/who is Tom going to do next? Escape? Fight? Altair? I like the last one. Oh, and this is just for fun, but in your reviews, try and guess my gender! I'm conducting an experiment. I'll explain in the next A/N!


	5. Chapter 5: Resolve

"What will you do, Thomas?"

The question was simple enough, but remained unanswered. Altair did not ask again and the words lingered like stagnant air. The knight said nothing, instead focusing intently on the ground. The assassin put his hand on the other's shoulder but Thomas slipped away, cringing at the touch.

"Thomas…" he whispered. He said the name with a sigh. Altair turned, stepping toward the door. "I cannot stay here," he called over his shoulder as he unbolted the door. "There are duties that I must attend to." Altair opened the door and warm desert sunlight wafted through the room.

"I will return." Those were his parting words as he slid through the archway. The door was pulled shut behind him. Thomas, with his back still facing the door, knelt down and picked up his helm. The Templar insignia was imprinted in the metal and he ran his fingers over the smooth metal.

"What will I do…" Thomas murmured to himself. With sudden resolve, Thomas shoved the helm over his head. Quickly, he clapped on his armor and threw open the bolted door. The sun glinted over the crested metal, jumping across the chain links of his armor.

"I am of the Knights Templar," he said loudly, His voice was clear and proud and resounded in the morning light. "I am the arm of the righteous, the weapon of the just. Barnes… he is not himself. I must know why." He began walking quickly toward the city center, looking to the crowded market for information.

Altair dropped quietly into the Assassin's Bureau. The young and smiling Kadar met him and clapped him on the back.

"Well met, Altair!" the young assassin said jovially, "I hope you're doing well." Altair ignored the comment and looked around the room.

"Where is Malik?" he asked severely. Kadar laughed and answered him with a kiss. Altair pushed the young man away.

"Kadar, stop this," he said firmly.

"But why? Brother isn't here…" Kadar mumbled, "and he won't be here for awhile yet."

"I value… Malik as a brother… and a friend," Altair said, his words punctuated by Kadar's kisses, "Does it not disturb you?"

"Altair, out time is short…" Kadar whispered, pulling his shirt off, "let us hurry…" Altair shed his coat and ran his hands across Kadar's chest, scraping his teeth along the younger man's collarbone.

"Perhaps we should not waste our breath," Kadar moaned, "on this useless banter." His fingers fumbled with Altair's belt, but he stopped abruptly, pulling away.

"Malik…" he whispered, tugging on his shirt. Altair retrieved his white coat, smoothing out the wrinkles. He had just finished with the last clasp when Malik dropped into the room. Kadar greeted him warmly.

"Brother, how good to see you safe!" he said, embracing him. "You are earlier than I expected." Malik shrugged.

"The mission was simpler than I expected," he said. He nodded at Altair, and the gesture was returned.

"What is our task, Malik?" Altair asked. Malik retrieved a scroll from his belt and unfurled it.

"According to this," Malik said, running his finger along the paper, "our target is not a mark, but an item." Malik tossed the scroll to Altair. His dark eyes scanned the paper and the assassin sucked in a breath

"What is it?" Kadar asked, and the two older men exchanged glances. Malik sighed.

"We are to retrieve something…" he started, but Altair interrupted angrily.

"He should not be here!" he growled, pointing at Kadar, "He is too young!"

"Be mindful of your feelings, Altair," Malik said softly, "Al-Mualim believes this to be an excellent opportunity. And besides, you are not much older than him." Kadar put a hand on Altair's shoulder.

"Don't worry about me," Kadar assured him, "I am not a child, as you should well know." Malik raised an eyebrow at this comment, but said nothing. "And my brother is here as well. Between the two of you, I should be more than safe." Their eyes met for a moment and Malik turned away, coughing.

"Er..." Malik mumbled, "If that's settled, we should be leaving soon." He left the room, fumbling with the scroll. Kadar lowered Altair's hood and bit his ear.

"He's gone now…" he whispered, "Let's have some fun." Altair smiled, his hands framing Kadar's face. The younger man led Altair to the counter and lay down, pulling the assassin on top of him.

"Kadar, this is…" he murmured, pulling his clothes off, "Oh, Kadar…"

"I know…" Kadar returned in a low voice. Their lips met first, then their skin, and Kadar trembled as Altair began. Kadar gripped Altair tightly, biting his neck and his chin. They shook and groaned together, pressing their hardened bodies together desperately.

"Please…" Kadar begged, "more… ah…" Altair, still inside of Kadar, wrapped his hands around the younger assassin's shaft, eliciting sharp cries of pleasure. They finished together, wet and tired and happy. With no small amount of effort, Altair removed himself from Kadar, pressing kisses into his body as he went.

"It's too bad we don't have more time…" Kadar said suggestively. Altair smiled, kissing him again.

"Not now. When we return, we shall have all the time in the world." Abruptly, Malik's indignant voice, echoing from another room, pierced the air.

"I'm still here! You couldn't have waited until tomorrow?!" Altair laughed quietly.

"I guess he knows now," he said softly.

"I've known since the beginning! Do you no nothing of subtlety or discretion!?" Malik shouted furiously. Kadar ran his hands over Altair chest and kissed him hungrily.

"I can STILL hear you!" Malik shouted angrily.

Thomas stood in the middle of the market, scanning the citizens carefully. He still bore the colors and crests of the Knights Templar, and the townspeople seemed to naturally avoid him. _I need to find Barnes, _Thomas thought, _but discreetly. _He noticed two Knights huddled together, exchanging hushed words and throwing nervous glances at the people around them. They wore the insignias of officers, and Thomas decided that they might know something.

_A subtle approach may warrant more information, _Thomas thought to himself. He sat down on a bench between two people and leaned forward, listening intently.

"Did you hear about Lieutenant Barnes? Rumor has it that he took quite a beating," the first Knight whispered.

"I heard it was one of the assassins. He had the nerve to sneak right into our base!" the second whispered back. "But that's not all. One of the men who saw the fight claims that the assassin had help from a Templar!"

"A traitor?" the first Knight hissed, "And have we caught him yet?" The second Knight shook his head.

"Barnes, who was the center of all this, said that he doesn't recognize the Templar who aided the assassin!" he exclaimed.

"So Barnes is either telling the truth, or he's a traitor too!" the first Knight asserted. _He hasn't said anything?_ Thomas thought to himself. _But that doesn't make any sense. Altair humiliated him! Barnes… what are you doing?_

"What of the murderer? What do we know of him?" the first Knight asked.

"Naught but a name: Altair. Common enough, and according to Barnes, the assassin was hooded." The second Knight looked around suspiciously, "But I hear they have a plan in store for him. The officers got a hold of a letter, and if it can be believed, three assassins are planning to loot Solomon's Temple!" The first Knight gasped, but let the second continue, "But they've laid a pretty trap for those assassins, and I'd bet anything that Barnes will be there for a bit of revenge!" Thomas rose suddenly, leaving the soldiers to their gossip.

_How much worth should I invest in the chatter of an idle soldier? _Thomas asked himself silently. But in spite of his doubts, the Knight turned toward the Solomon Temple, brow furrowed with worry. His footsteps were uncertain at first, but as he neared the holy shrine, instinct forced him into a sprint.

Three men stood in a crowded passage, hoods pulled low over serious expressions. A body was sprawled on the ground between them, his life ended by Altair's blade.

"Why did you do that?" Malik whispered through clenched teeth. "He posed no threat! Perhaps you have forgotten the Creed?" Altair kicked at the body.

"Do not harm the innocent? He was associated with the Knights Templar – isn't that enough?" Altair looked away as he said this, suddenly thinking of Thomas.

"This is not our way!" Malik protested.

"My way is better," Altair cut him short," Nothing is real. Everything is permitted." Kadar looked from one man to the other, and then to the vacant eyes that stared up at him. He didn't say anything, but gazed at Altair with baleful eyes.

"There is much to be done," Altair murmured, looking away.

Further down the passage, past the winding rock beneath Solomon's Temple, Robert de Sable grinned.

"Here they come…" he whispered and someone behind him laughed.

"Oh yes, here they come," Barnes repeated. His face was shadowed and ugly, more from his expression than from his scar. His fingers traced the wound, hating every scab, every blemish that was streaked across his face. The sound of footsteps filled the cave and Barnes broke into a twisted smile. He wrapped his fingers around his sword and licked his lips in anticipation. Three Knights circled near Barnes, but he lifted a hand.

"They are mine." His voice was sharp and focused. The patter of footsteps grew louder until a single, hooded figure burst from a passage behind them.

"What…?" Barnes growled, spinning around. Robert de Sable lifted an eyebrow in what seemed like mild interest. Thomas was doubled over, hands on his knees, trying to cough out a sentence.

"Lieu… Lieutenant Barnes…" he wheezed. Barnes frowned, curling a lip in disgust.

"I didn't expect to see you here, traitor." The last word was punctuated with something far more dangerous than simple hate. It hinted at betrayal and broken trust.

"Assassins are coming," Thomas warned, "I am here to stop this violence. I don't want to see anyone else get hurt." Barnes laughed, and there was something cruel and angry in the cry.

"Too late, you are," he whispered through clenched teeth, "You will pay. " Thomas didn't know what to say.

"Are you serious?" he managed not to shout, "What have I done to you? After all that you have done, you still have the audacity to blame me?" Something far away glinted, and Robert de Sable shifted under his coat. Thomas dared not look away from Lyle Barnes, the man that he loved, the man that he wanted to save.

"You will suffer… you will all suffer!" Lyle screamed, and he charged with his sword clenched in both hands. Thomas cringed, but did not otherwise retreat.

"Lyle," he breathed as his lover approached. Somewhere up above, three men emerged from a passage and noticed the conflict below. Altair was struck with abrupt recognition.

"Thomas…" The name barely left his tongue.

"Eden…" Robert de Sable closed his eyes and smiled. Someone from the platform above bellowed something, something that was too loud and too angry to understand.

It was sudden, the death of Lieutenant Lyle Barnes. Three swift knives caught him in the back and the knight faltered in mid step. Thomas's eyes shot upward for the smallest of moments, before he devoted his attention to the man dying before him. Thomas cradled Lyle in his arms, scarlet and crimson streaks staining his white tabard. Their sight met, if only for a moment, and Thomas saw fire and anguish and confusion. But then Lyle changed, and his eyes cleared, and the familiar blue replaced the red. A final breath left him, quiet and still, and Thomas soon realized that he held a corpse in his grasp. Robert de Sable stepped toward Thomas and lifted him by the throat.

"You are a nuisance, Knight," he said, smiling as the color left Thomas's face. "Now, be gone." Altair, abandoning his oath, his Creed, leaped down, landing squarely on Robert. The Templar, swinging a massive fist, sent Altair spiraling into a wall.

"Altair!" Kadar cried out. He rushed toward Robert with a drawn blade.

"No, Kadar! Get away!" Malik called, but he was too late. Robert de Sable disarmed the young assassin with a well-aimed punch and beheaded the man with his own sword. The screams that filled the cave were terrible. Robert de Sable trilled with delight. Malik roared with anguish. Malik sprinted toward the man with nothing but his hands.

"I'll kill you!" he howled, "I'll kill you!" The sword came down again and Malik screeched, holding his stump of an arm. There was so much blood on the floor, so much blood, so much blood. Thomas couldn't stand it, watching these people die and scream in front of him. His vision was fuzzy from being strangled and he struggled to stand. Altair picked Thomas off of the ground and tried to run. Robert de Sable picked the two up and threw them into a pile of scaffolding. Fortunately, there was a corridor behind the scaffolds, and the wood and marble collapsed, effectively protecting them form the hulking Templar's fury.

They ran. Thomas mentioned Malik, but Altair hushed him, assuring that the assassin could handle himself. Thomas was doubtful, as the image of Kadar's dark, empty eyes falling to the ground was still vivid.

"Come. We must go," was all Altair said. So they went.

A/N: Alright, I know that Thomas's character changed dramatically, but I was sick of him being so… wimpy. And I know that the ending was lame, but I wanted to move on. And for all of the people out there who haven't played the game, this isn't how the scene actually played out. The "Eden" thing was a reference to "The pieces of Eden" which is a big plot device in the game. Basically, it creates illusions on a grand scale, and that's what happened to dear Lyle (but Tommy and Altair don't know that quite yet). And perhaps there will be some sex in the next chapter. That might work out. Oh, and by the way, I am a boy. So ha. (Granted, I am gay, but still. I fooled some of you!)


End file.
